


witch hats

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Series: fictober 2020 [21]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Flufftober, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27143528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: There’s this Watford tradition that not everyone participates in, mostly just students who come from old families or have a few generations of Watford graduates among their bloodline. It’s similar to the Normal graduation tradition, where they get those flat caps and have the opportunity to decorate them. Basically it’s the same thing, only with some stereotypical, pointy witch hats. (I’m almost certain someone started it as a joke against Normals, then it stuck.)Dev, Niall, and I have all done it.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: fictober 2020 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949911
Comments: 9
Kudos: 78





	witch hats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [banjjakbanjjak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/banjjakbanjjak/gifts).



> day 21: witch hats
> 
> i had so much trouble thinking up what to do with this one, then i let my singular brain cell take me right over to the discord where [banjjakbanjjak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/banjjakbanjjak/pseuds/banjjakbanjjak) gave me this _brilliant_ idea of a Watford graduation tradition. 
> 
> So this one's for you, friend, thank you so much for your help. I hope I've done your idea justice.

**BAZ**

It’s our next to last day — well, _my_ last day, I suppose — at Watford.

We’ve a whole ceremony to deal with, us eighth years. It’s strange to be preparing for this without Snow or Bunce.

Not that I really thought I _would_ be, before everything that happened this year. In fact, it’s gone pretty much how I’d always imagined. We finished our final exams a week or so ago, so Dev and Niall have been faffing around ever since.

I’ve been going to see Snow.

It’s quite the drive, from Watford to the Bunces’, but I make it happily. I like getting to see him, and now that we don’t have classes I can go nearly every day.

I’m going again today. It’s nearly noon and I promised him I would be there this afternoon, so I’m just gathering my things to head out. I’ve got something I want to show him today. I hope it doesn’t make him feel any worse, but it is something I want to share with him.

There’s this Watford tradition that not everyone participates in, mostly just students who come from old families or have a few generations of Watford graduates among their bloodline. It’s similar to the Normal graduation tradition, where they get those flat caps and have the opportunity to decorate them. Basically it’s the same thing, only with some stereotypical, pointy witch hats. (I’m almost certain someone started it as a joke against Normals, then it stuck.)

Dev, Niall, and I have all done it.

Dev’s is ‘minimalist’ (his words), with just a white line down the center of the point to represent his wand. (He put air quotes around that when he explained, but I dare not think about that.)

Niall’s got a bit more crafty, he’s cast a couple spells over it so his last name and the year are written around the brim in bright, neon blue letters. He’s also got some fairy lights draped down the cone of the hat, as well as some small clay fairy statues. (I don’t want to know how or where he found those.)

I went somewhere more… traditional with mine. Actually, I copied my mother almost exactly. We have different pictures, of course, but I’ve got them spread over the brim just like she did. They form a W in the front and an M in the back. (For Watford School of Magicks — the _S_ would’ve been complicated so I’m not mad that I skipped it.)

I’ve included the picture of a young, chubby baby me that I found in my mother’s office last term, it’s not got a more appropriate place to be. Father has the better, more professional, photos of a younger me framed somewhere in our home. This one is just for me.

I also managed to get some photos of Snow to include. Thanks to Headmistress Bunce taking over and lifting the ban on electronics I’m able to still talk to Snow _and_ Bunce. Bunce was the one that helped me with the photos, finding good ones of Snow, and also stalking Dev and Niall’s profile to find some better ones of me. She even had them printed for me. She slipped a little envelope into my bag as I left a few weeks back and I waited until I was back in our — or, just _my_ — room to open it.

It’s a good thing I did because I felt my eyes stinging as soon as I realized what was in there.

There’s a photo of Snow grinning directly at the camera, showing off the best of his freckles and dimples and teeth. I can feel him shining through the photo like the sun, filling me with warmth. There’s another of him posing with the Sword of Mages, because of course someone’s taken that photo of him. (I wonder if it was Bunce, or maybe Wellbelove.)

I’ve got one photo on there from when Dev, Niall, and I were in second year. Dev’s still missing his front tooth in it, Niall had knocked it out in a particularly rough football match the summer before. He’s just got a fake there now. We’re all smiling, twelve and full of wonder and unaware of just what the world had in store for us. What a better time.

There’s one final picture, acting as the midpoint of my _W_. Headmistress Bunce was the one that got this one for me. Penelope must have told her of my idea. She called me to her office one day; I was afraid something was wrong with Snow, honestly.

When I walked in she was standing behind the big wooden desk that I had known as my mother’s for so many years. It still felt weird to be in there, not only because of how familiar-yet-unfamiliar the space felt, but it still held the energy of the Mage within. (Headmistress Bunce definitely spent a good portion of her time trying to rid the space of that energy.)

_“Basil,”_ she said, dipping her head in a small nod. I followed suit.

_“Headmistress.”_

_“You know you can call me Mitali, Basil.”_ She gave me a soft smile, one that I knew she saved for special occasions. _“But Headmistress is acceptable.”_

We stood there in silence for a long moment, before I finally spoke up. I tried to mask my concern when I asked, _“Is there… something wrong?”_

_“No, no, nothing like that,”_ she answered, waving my worries away. I felt my shoulders relax just a bit, _at least everything is relatively okay._ She cleared her throat. _“Actually, I just… found something that I think would be more appreciated in your hands.”_

She opened a drawer then and pulled out something flat and white and rectangular. It wasn’t until she was holding it out to me and I felt it that I realized it was a photo. There was a messy script across the back, _Natasha & Little Puff (32 wks), ‘96. _

I flipped it over and my breath caught in my throat.

There in an aged photo was my mother, her own cheeks as rosy as my own in my baby photo. She was in her pyjamas and her belly was huge. She must’ve been absently rubbing it, her hand resting right there at the top, and I think she was laughing at something the person behind the camera had said because her lips are parted in a smile and she’s got one eyebrow raised.

And I’m there with her, right under that hand of hers. _32 weeks_.

There was no proper way for me to thank her, but I think she understood when I choked on the last half of my sentence. The headmistress just waved me off, back to my room, which is where I laid on my bed and stared at that picture for the remainder of the night.

Snow’s just woken up when I get to the Bunces’. It’s late afternoon.

At least he seems to be doing okay so far. His eyes still look sleepy when he answers the door, but he pulls me into a hug with just as much enthusiasm as usual.

“Aren’t you supposed to be preparing for tomorrow?” He asks. I sneak a kiss while I can, which makes him chuckle against my lips. He pulls me inside.

“Unlike you, Snow, I prepare for things in advance.” I tell him. He flicks my chin, which makes _me_ chuckle. He settles down onto the sofa and pulls me down, too, keeping hold of my hand.

“Actually, I wanted to show you something.” I shimmy my bag from my shoulder and dig through it with one hand, all the while refusing to let go of Simon’s. It takes a bit, but I do manage to shimmy the hat out of my bag and into my lap. I explain the tradition to Simon a bit, in as few words as possible, because I know he’s not going to be aware of it but I also know that talking about Watford too much makes him sad.

“What sorts of things do you put on it?” He asks. Thankfully still just as inquisitive and cheery as when I walked in.

“Anything you want, really. I modeled mine after my mother’s, though. She included all of the most important parts of her years at Watford.”

“Oh yeah?” Snow lifts his eyebrows, tilts his head. “What’s on yours then?”

I show him. I slide it over into his lap and he finally does let go of my hand so he can take it and look closer at all the pictures.

“Yourself? Of course.” He snorts. He’s looking at the _M_ , which is just a few nice photos of me and a couple of Dev and Niall as well. “And your mates. Dev looked like a menace as a child.”

“He was.” I laugh. “And still is, mind you.”

Snow turns the hat, finally looking at the _W_ , which is when his laugh turns from one of mirth to one of surprise.

“Is this…?” He looks at the pictures of himself, shaking his head. “Where’d you get these? You really have been stalking me all these years, haven’t you?”

I roll my eyes.

“Obviously, Snow. And now I’m giving myself away via a graduation hat.”

“Thought you’d be a bit better with it, honestly.”

I elbow him in the ribs, making him laugh a beautiful, windchime-y little sound.

“Bunce helped me. Whether I like it or not, you were also a big part of my years at Watford.”

His smile turns softer as he touches the photo of my mother. “Is this your mother?”

I nod.

“Is this… _you_?” He points to her pregnant belly.

I nod again.

He’s quiet for a long time, staring at the photo of my mother.

Finally, he says, “This might be the best photo of you I’ve seen.”

I bark out a laugh, mostly in surprise, and dig my elbow into his ribs once again. He sits my hat out of the way, placing it gently onto the table next to him, before tackling me in retaliation.

Today’s a good day, at least. Both in Simon’s brain, and in mine. Because I’m here with him.

Tomorrow’s my last day at Watford.

I thought it’d be my last day with Snow, too, once upon a time. I want to thank every known deity that it’s not.

It’s not the ending I expected, but sometimes I let myself believe it’s the ending I deserve.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr (where i put a lot of canva-based effort into my posts for these lmaoooo): [@pipsqueakparker](https://pipsqueakparker.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (ps all american readers make sure u have a plan to vote!)


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